Starling (Love in Los Angeles, #1)

1 After yet another fight with his boyfriend about work-life balance, Paul Marion Keane gets to the small suite of offices that belongs to the writing team of hit TV show The Fourth Estate. At seven thirty the lights are still off. Between the fight with Craig and a stack of notes to go through on an episode that isn’t even his, Paul is grateful for the time alone. He’s got a pitch for a plotline to work on too, but suspects it will wind up relegated to a C-plot. He punches the lights on, drops his bag on his desk, and walks into the kitchenette for a cup of terrible coffee. At which point his already unpleasant morning becomes ridiculous. Their intern Nick and some unidentified boy are making out against the counter in front of the damn coffee machine. Paul reaches around them to grab a mug out of the cabinet. “Seriously, what the f**k?” Nick unsuctions himself from his companion and turns around sheepishly. He’s trying to shield the other guy, but he’s taller than Nick so it’s not very effective. The other guy is also startling in appearance: Red hair, dramatically freckled face, and ridiculously plump lips. Paul can’t help but focus on him despite Nick’s fidgeting. “We didn’t think anyone would be here,” Nick says. “Obviously.” Paul shoves into their space to grab the carafe out of the coffee maker. “When you get caught making out with someone at work, apologize first.” Nick backs up nervously, but the other guy slides down the counter as if this absurd turn of events is merely mildly interesting. “Also, start the coffee if you’re the first one in.” Paul isn’t sure what to do. His emotional spoons are low and yelling seems like the best choice. “Don’t you have homes, either of you?” “He didn’t want his roommates to know,” Mr. Unidentified says. He blinks at Paul mildly. “And who are you?” Paul asks. “Production assistant.” “Right,” Paul turns the sink on to fill the carafe. “Should have known from the hideous cargo shorts. Do you have a name?” Unperturbed by the insult to his wardrobe, he grins. “Alex.” “Nice to meet you,” Paul says grudgingly, but doesn’t extend a hand. Under the circumstances there’s only so much courtesy he can muster. “Nick, go do something useful.” Despite everything, Paul can’t help but smile when Nick reaches for Alex’s hand and give a little squeeze before bolting. Alex hoists himself up to perch on the counter. “I’m sorry he’s —” “A giant f*****g closet case and completely dysfunctional?” Paul pours the water into the coffeemaker and shoves the carafe back in with more force than necessary. He hopes the anger hides how intensely pathetic he feels today. “Yes, thank you, and welcome to Hollywood.” “I’ve been here for two years,” Alex notes. “Whatever.” “Bad morning?” Paul c***s his head to the side and considers the question. First Craig stormed out this morning and now these two? He’s reminded of his mother’s insistence that he’s the luckiest man she knows—not good lucky or bad lucky, just weird lucky. “Strange morning, as far as it’s your business,” he finally replies. Alex blinks back at him. “Piece of advice: Don’t screw idiots who aren’t out and have your next tryst in a different department, okay?” Alex nods. “Yeah. No problem.” He slides down from the counter. “Although, that’s two,” he says as he saunters out. “Hope your day gets better.” Paul shakes his head and laughs. “Yeah, you too.” When Alex is gone, Paul sighs. He has no energy for this, and Nick is an i***t with whom he should probably go have a heartfelt and sympathetic conversation. — * * * * DESPITE THE ABORTED morning makeout, Alex’s day doesn’t get truly weird until after the cast and crew of The Fourth Estate break for lunch. The assistant director tells him to pop over to wardrobe when he’s done. “The hell?” Alex asks around a mouthful of chicken and rice. “It’s another paycheck,” Gary says in lieu of explaining. Alex swallows. “Awesome. Explain.” Too many pranks happen on sets for him not to want the full story. “We’ve got a line that references a specific type. Because we occasionally work with morons, the background selection is inadequate, and you’re today’s lucky winner.” Alex sets down his fork. “Neat. How big’s the check?” —